


Better Medicine

by bluemoodblue



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (but light), (just outright disaster in the kitchen), Bad Cooking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Nureyev and Rita take care of a sick Juno, Other, Rita is SHARP and has GOOD ADVICE, Sick Character, Sickfic, and learning about someone else even when it’s not graceful, the mortifying ordeal of being known (to yourself), tpp valentine’s exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29418909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemoodblue/pseuds/bluemoodblue
Summary: Peter Nureyev liked to be prepared for anything. He knew what was waiting for him in most buildings before he ever walked inside. If there wasn’t a weapon somewhere on him, he knew how to improvise and make up for the lack. He always had an escape plan.Tonight, Nureyev had a spare plasma cutter tucked away in his pocket and snacks tucked away in a bag by his feet for when Rita grew bored with her placement by the cameras and wandered over in his direction. His seat was placed next to Juno’s door -“And where do you thinkyou’regoing?”- for the inevitable escape attempt, announced by a creak of the door next to him.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev & Rita, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel
Comments: 12
Kudos: 92
Collections: TPP Valentine's Exchange





	Better Medicine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alittlebitoftheuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlebitoftheuniverse/gifts).



> Happy Valentine’s Day, Bailey! I got your name for the exchange and I was absolutely delighted by your prompts - I tried to fit in something from all of them because they worked together so well. I hope you like it!

Peter Nureyev liked to be prepared for anything. He knew what was waiting for him in most buildings before he ever walked inside. If there wasn’t a weapon somewhere on him, he knew how to improvise and make up for the lack. He always had an escape plan.

Tonight, Nureyev had a spare plasma cutter tucked away in his pocket and snacks tucked away in a bag by his feet for when Rita grew bored with her placement by the cameras and wandered over in his direction. His seat was placed next to Juno’s door -

“And where do you think _you’re_ going?”

\- for the inevitable escape attempt, announced by a creak of the door next to him.

“It’s date night?” Juno tried feebly, and on any other night Nureyev would have been tempted. Juno was a vision in a red dress, lingering in the doorway as if he wasn’t completely aware of what he was doing - as if he wasn’t counting on Nureyev to give up on the argument of the last day and a half. It was a sound strategy, until Juno opened his mouth to say something else and a raspy, painful cough emerged instead.

“It’s not date night with a cough like that. You should be in bed, dear - unless you’d like me to run you a bath?” Juno was beautiful, because Nureyev always thought he was beautiful, but he looked just a little pitiful, too - his shoulders drooped more than usual, and his grip on the wall was a little tighter. 

“Can’t believe you’re guarding the _door_ ,” Juno muttered. “Like some kinda… prison warden.”

Nureyev chuckled. “Can I earn my way back into your good graces if I find something to help your throat?”

Juno looked like he wanted to hold out, but also like he was getting too tired to keep up the act. “Maybe.”

The Carte Blanche was quiet with only the three of them onboard. It felt bigger, too, as if halving their numbers had sucked something from the air, a vacuum in the place of several very large personalities that usually filled the space. They’d been overdue for a planetside visit, Buddy told them one evening when they were all crowded around the kitchen table, practically on top of each other. He was sure her reasons of supplies and maintenance had been sincere, just as he was sure she was equally motivated by the spat that had just broken out between Juno and Vespa. 

Planetside visits always meant date night. There were date nights on the Carte Blanche, of course - it wasn’t about where they were when he was with Juno - but there would always be a part of Nureyev that would want to take Juno by the hand and show him everything. Foolish and sentimental, perhaps, or maybe it was just that seeing the look on Juno’s face made him feel young and reckless.

The reservations were made almost as soon as the stop was announced. A day before they docked, Juno made a horrendous sound at breakfast, like something had rattled loose in his chest and littered the bottom of his lungs. Juno insisted he was fine. Vespa insisted he was not. Nureyev canceled the reservation within earshot of them both, earning two worryingly similar glares that conveyed very different messages: that Nureyev had earned himself a momentary reprieve, and that Nureyev had also earned himself a long string of dedicated pouting.

Stirring honey into the tea - just because Jet’s medicinal blend was good for an aching throat didn’t mean Juno would allow it without some kind of bribery - Nureyev thought about the difference that time together made. There was a time when he didn’t even know how Juno took his tea; there was a time when he would have been miles out of his depth.

Peter Nureyev thought, with long-practiced confidence, that he was prepared. It didn’t matter that he’d never seen Juno sick before. It didn’t matter that it was probably a regular cold, but it could be some Venusian flu and all Vespa could tell him about knowing the difference was to watch Juno’s symptoms and “if it gets a lot worse all of a sudden, call me.” It didn’t matter that it had been years since Nureyev had someone in his life long enough to… need him, for something like this. He would be fine; he would be everything Juno needed from him.

Peter Nureyev was prepared for anything.

* * *

“Mistah Ransom, I don’t wanna bother you because I’m sure whatever you’re doing over there is _real_ important, but I think something’s burning. Like the cabinet. I think the cabinet’s on fire, Mistah Ransom.”

Peter Nureyev was not prepared for the intricacy of soup.

The rest of the Carte Blance could imply what they liked; Nureyev was not useless in the kitchen. There was a perfectly passable grilled cheese sandwich on a plate, set carefully on the far side of the table out of reach of the extensive soup-assembly station taking up most of the room - to accompany the soup. He’d used a pan and everything, and it had been fine; just because someone lacked the background knowledge of how kitchens operated due to not having spent very much time in one one didn’t mean they couldn’t learn.

Maybe it was the heady success of the sandwich that led to his downfall. It certainly wasn’t the work of _good sense_ that had him pull up a recipe instead of a food delivery service. Nureyev’s justification had been well-meaning, if naive: the best soup he’d ever had in his life had been when he was young, sick, and fresh off the streets - some Brahmese dish that Mag had put into his hands, that had warmed him up immediately all the way through and made him feel safe in an unnamable, instinctual way. He wanted to do that for Juno, to make everything better that easily; he wanted to share something that had been his, once. 

While the likelihood of finding a restaurant that served authentic Brahmese food at their current location was… minimal, they did have the benefit of an authentic Brahmese individual and a fully-stocked kitchen. He’d called in Rita for backup, located the necessary supplies, and successfully chopped vegetables while Rita put a pot of water boiling. He’d had five whole minutes and the audacity to think _this is easier than I thought it would be_.

Then Nureyev’s knife found a vegetable that fought back, the pot made a resounding popping noise while the lid flew off and Rita ducked with a shriek, and everything went rapidly, horribly downhill.

“Thank you for the update,” Nureyev grunted from across the room. The pot lid’s progress had been stopped by a convenient wall, and now he was having as much success getting it back as he’d had with the abandoned knife. Or the chopping board, which he’d learned the hard way just moments ago was not burner-safe. “Any chance you could put it out?”

“I’m tryin’!” He glanced over his shoulder to see her beating at the flames with her apron. The cabinet was subdued - and that… that was going to leave a mark, wonderful - just in time for the still-lit burner from the Cutting Board Incident to catch the apron instead. Rita dropped it and started stomping it into submission with both feet. Nureyev, still staring, missed the moment when the wall gave up on tug-of-war and ended up flat on his back. Another mark, he thought idly from the floor, and he’d be lucky if Buddy ever let him touch a stove again. He’d be lucky if she ever let him back into the kitchen; he could feel his impending exile like a promise.

“You, uh… having fun down there?” Nureyev looked above him, and even from the floor under a pot lid and surrounded by chaos in progress, Juno looked lovely. Lovely and tired; Nureyev was just about to ask him what he thought he was doing out of bed when Juno told him. “I thought it seemed a little too peaceful. Making something?”

For all that he seemed exhausted, there was still a hint of quiet amusement in Juno’s voice; Nureyev was hopeless enough that it coaxed a smile from him. “Something for you, love. Are you hungry?”

He could tell from the little twist in Juno’s mouth that he was going to say no; politely, with as little laughter as he could manage, but firmly. Whether that was because he wasn’t feeling well or because he was hesitant to try whatever Nureyev and Rita’s combined cooking abilities might have produced, Nureyev didn’t get to ask. Juno looked up to survey the rest of the kitchen and spotted the grilled cheese, still waiting on its plate for the rest of dinner to materialize. 

“Aw,” he said, “You _did_ make me something. Thanks, babe.”

Nureyev was a fool for Juno Steel, and he resolved then and there with a pot lid as his witness that he would make Juno as many grilled cheese sandwiches as his love could stomach. Soup be damned. “It’s not much… we could call for something else?”

“Probably more than I can eat anyway,” Juno muttered, dropping himself heavily into a chair and picking at the crust. “Hey Rita,” he called out to the other side of the kitchen, “The burner’s still on. Might want to put that out before the kitchen burns down.”

* * *

Peter Nureyev was not prepared.

He wasn’t prepared for how difficult it was to keep Juno in bed when he was ill. Nureyev had given up on guarding the door, sheepishly admitting only to himself that it was a little much when Juno was a grown lady and not in need of a chaperone, only to turn and find Juno behind him every time he left to fetch something. A glass of water and Juno was shuffling around him for the sink. Something to help with fever and Juno was at the medicine cabinet next to him. Another blanket and Juno only waited long enough for Nureyev to open the door before he’d found what he was after for himself.

“Dear,” he said when he found Juno wandering the halls, looking for Rita to tell her something when he’d had a perfectly good communicator to send the message for him, “The point of being taken care of is that you lay down and let yourself be taken care of. I am at your beck and call - I’ll even provide a bell if that convinces you.”

Juno had made a face and mumbled something about not needing help, and Nureyev tried not to let that sting.

He wasn’t ready for the nonanswers, either; Juno had been working hard on communication and openness, and it felt like a step backward to have to prod information about how he was feeling out of him. If anything, he minimized his symptoms - not what Nureyev had expected from him, and worse than an abundance of complaints. 

Nureyev wasn’t prepared to feel useless. It was a selfish, silly thing to be bothered by, especially when Juno was obviously miserable, but it crept up on him. Every time Juno refused his help, every time Rita seemed to just _know_ what Juno needed, every time an attempt was gently rebuffed or replaced… It was that same, doubting voice from the tomb, wondering if anything he was trying to do was actually _helping_. This wasn’t the tomb, though, so he pushed the feelings down, and tried not to let it show on his face when they bubbled back up again.

His breaking point for the evening, when he finally found it, was a _stream_.

It was that Rita knew that Juno wouldn’t sleep unless he was tricked into it. It was that Nureyev’s suggestions were shot down one by one, despite knowing that he was picking things Juno would enjoy. It was that Rita settled on a boring nature documentary, and that Juno was out as soon as the camera moved underwater, and that Nureyev had entirely missed the nature of the “trick” without realizing it. It was that he felt like an intruder to the moment.

 _I don’t need to be here_ , Nureyev thought, and as soon as it was in his head he had to leave. He ignored Rita’s whispered protests, throwing out the excuse that he was going to watch the cameras over his shoulder. And, with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do with himself, that was exactly where he’d gone.

Someone really _should_ have been watching the cameras, Nureyev thought with his head in his hand while he definitely did not hide and mope. Care for the ship was their collective responsibility for the evening. Depending on the alarms meant precious time that their enemies had to invade, and _that_ was just shoddy work. 

It was what he should have been doing all night.

When he and Juno decided they would try again, Nureyev had made a quiet promise. This time, he would get it right. This time, he would not be caught unawares. If Juno had returned to him more patient, more understanding, Nureyev would meet him as someone more attentive and careful. He would learn everything he could about Juno Steel, take in every available detail, and with that knowledge he could sidestep mistakes a different, more reckless version of himself might have fallen into. Nureyev would be _prepared_. 

Sitting in front of the monitors, musing over his relationship in a much different context than usual, Nureyev had the sudden impression that the run of his thoughts was… familiar. Not the thoughts themselves, not the subject matter, just - something about the pattern. Something about the words.

He sounded like he was planning for a job.

Nureyev dropped his face in both hands. And then what? And then he’d steal Juno’s heart in a perfectly-executed heist? Even if that had been necessary, even if it hadn’t already been handed to him with an expression so vulnerable and beautiful that Nureyev had been struck dumb, was that what he _wanted?_ To map their interactions like a floorplan, to construct their conversations like a smile special-made for a mark? 

And the alternative? The alternative was wandering in blind, and it was terrifying.

He wasn’t allowed to sit alone with his thoughts for very long; a few short, alarming footsteps into his own psyche and his attention was snapped away by his comms. He wasn’t in the room, so his whispered answer was entirely unnecessary. “Rita? Is everything okay?”

Rita didn’t bother to whisper. “I know you’re havin’ a moment, Mistah Ransom, and I told myself, ‘Rita you’re gonna let Mistah Ransom figure things out ‘cause it’s been a long night and he’s probably tired and the boss _ain’t never_ been a good patient so he probably needs a break,’ and I meant it, except -”

“...Rita?”

“Except Mistah Steel won’t sleep, he just keeps mutterin’ and tossin’ around like he’s grumpy about something, and that’s weird, right, because _The Amazing World: Extended Edition with Extra Alligators_ always puts him right out and I can’t even get him up if the fire alarm goes off - don’t ask me how I know that, it’s a long story and I don’t wanna get distracted - and at first I thought it must be the fever, but _then_ he started crawlin’ outta bed like he was goin’ somewhere.”

Nureyev had guessed as much. “And where is he going now?”

“Not sure yet - he didn’t get very far, and he’s goin’ the wrong way for the kitchen or the bathroom or even my room but he ain’t listenin’ to a _word_ I say. I thought maybe you could try? He’s _real_ determined, Mistah Ransom.”

It seemed he would be forced to abandon his musings for a return to Juno’s company - he couldn’t deny that the company was preferable. “I suppose I’d better.”

Juno had been headed in his direction, as it happened; Nureyev found him leaning heavily against the wall sooner than he’d anticipated, though he couldn’t imagine what Juno thought he would find near the security room. Rita had been dragged along - Juno wasn’t turning around and Rita wasn’t releasing her grip on his hand, and so they’d reached a kind of impasse that meant Rita was doing more talking that tugging and Juno definitely wasn’t hearing any of it. 

He wasn’t hearing much of anything, probably, Nureyev thought as he got closer. There was a glassy look to Juno’s eye and a heaviness to his limbs that said being upright was about as much as he could manage. Nureyev reached out and felt his forehead, and Juno leaned into his touch - the fever was higher, but whether that was because he had the flu or because he’d pushed himself too hard tonight was anyone’s guess.

“Oh good, you hold onto him for a sec and I’m gonna call the doc and see what she thinks.” Before Nureyev had a chance to raise any word of protest - if Rita couldn’t get Juno to bed what hope did _he_ have, and didn’t she have her comms on her? - she was gone again down the hall.

Nureyev sighed, feeling a little like he’d walked into a trap he didn’t see the shape of yet. “Well, love? Are you going to come quietly this time?”

Something in his voice must have broken through the haze, because Juno looked up at him. “Was looking…”

“Yes, dear detective, I know. Rita told me you were on the case.” He coaxed Juno away from the wall. Juno fell into his arms and didn’t protest when Nureyev turned them both back the other way. “I’ll get it for you once you’re settled.”

“You...” Progress was slow; Juno had finally worn himself out and he was dead on his feet.

“I _have_ been trying to take care of you all night.” Trying, at least. Out of his depth and making a mess, but trying. “Will you let me?”

Juno didn’t answer. Nureyev put it away. They could talk another time - when Juno was a little more aware, perhaps, and when Nureyev was feeling a little braver.

The stream was long turned off, Rita’s tablet abandoned. The fight must have gone out of Juno completely on the way back, because he dropped onto the bed as soon as it was in reach. Nureyev was pulling away when there was a tug on his shirt and a short, upset sigh. Juno had clung while they walked, and now his hand was twisted in the fabric as he kept a grip on Nureyev that belied his obvious exhaustion. “Where’re you going _now_ ,” he asked, outdone and petulant, and the words of the question slipped together enough that it took Nureyev a moment to parse them.

“To get Rita, and then to get something to help with the fever.” Juno didn’t seem to like that answer; he groaned and pushed himself back up. “ _Juno_.”

“Comin’ with you.” Nureyev didn’t think that was likely. Juno was swaying where he sat as it was, and one good push would have him off-balance. He would try, though, and end up on the floor for his trouble.

“You are not, you stubborn fool. Lay down.”

“ _No_.”

He bit off a frustrated sigh. “Of all the -”

Whatever admonishment Nureyev was preparing was cut off - Juno tugged on the shirt like he was going to use it as leverage to get up or pull Nureyev back down with him. “You weren’t here.” Juno looked up at him like he was desperately trying to untangle some vital, enormous puzzle, and when the answer didn’t come to him he sighed, deep and tired. “You keep going somewhere.”

Nureyev tried to follow Juno’s line of logic - he was sure there was something there he was meant to understand. He didn’t - he didn’t know enough to decode every shift of Juno’s face, or how many years of study that would take. But with Juno holding onto him, looking up at him even though every blink was slower, heavier - Nureyev thought he could make a guess. He thought he could try, even with no guarantees, because Juno needed him to try.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Juno’s smile was an answer, and in case that wasn’t enough: “Get down here.”

And in the quiet while Juno’s breath slowed to something easy and restful, Nureyev thought he was good enough at holding him.

* * *

Juno’s fever was back down long before morning, between Rita’s quick and cheerful attention and Vespa’s barked instructions over the comms. Nureyev’s new role in proceedings was a pillow: Juno had gotten a good grip and shifted almost on top of him, and whether that was because Nureyev was just that comfortable or because Juno was trying to trap him in place was up for interpretation. He was resting, at least.

“Forgot he was like that,” Rita spoke up sometime late at night when Nureyev almost thought he could drift off, too. She didn’t look away from her tablet, streaming something far more interesting than the nature documentary. 

“Mm?”

“Y’know, all clingy like that - Mistah Steel pretends he doesn’t want any help from anybody, but when he’d get all sick with a fever and I’d go over just to make sure he was okay, he’d follow me all over the apartment. Kept sayin’ it was ‘cause he could get it, Rita, you don’t even know where I keep my medicine, Rita, you’re not tall enough to reach that shelf, _Rita_ , like he didn’t have to grab the stool anyway. But really, he’d just be lookin’ for me.”

Nureyev ran a gentle hand down Juno’s back, and Juno sighed contentedly. Looking for _him_. Looking for him all night, even; Juno always seemed to follow when he left the room, crawling back out of bed every time Nureyev or Rita left to fetch something or do something, cook or watch the door or slip away to security. 

He’d misunderstood from the beginning. “I’m very glad you’re here tonight, Rita. I’m not sure I would have made a good caretaker on my own.”

Something must have been off in his voice, or Rita was just that accustomed to rooting out negative talk and nipping it in the bud - she put down her tablet and looked at him with her full attention. Nureyev felt pinned by the gaze; it was easy to forget how much of a presence Rita had, when she decided to. “Can I tell you a story, Mistah Ransom?”

“I… yes?”

“Did you know the first time I went to check on Mistah Steel when he was sick, I tried to cook for him?”

“I… did not.” Nureyev felt a stab of pity for Juno of the past, if tonight’s cooking was any indication of Rita’s ability. “How did it go?”

“Oh, I almost burned the apartment down!”

“Ah.”

“Someone called the fire department, and everyone had to go down and wait across the street, and Mistah Steel was so mad that he fired me three times and he _woulda_ fired me again but that’s when he started sneezing and that was pretty much all he did for the rest of the night _and_ the next morning.”

“That’s -”

“Anyway, he asked me what I was trying to cook, and I told him all about my specialty: Secret Snack Surprise! And then he got all green the more I said about it so I stopped describing it - which was actually kinda rude but I forgave him because he _did_ have all kinds of scorch marks on his ceiling - and he said I had to let him cook for me sometimes, and that was _real_ sweet so of course I told him he could.”

Nureyev had the distinct impression that his input was not needed. Juno slept on, undisturbed - it spoke volumes about how close he was with Rita that her chatter didn’t wake him.

“Only I don’t know if you know this, but Mistah Steel loves spicy food. He puts peppers in almost everything, and it’s probably really good and all but I can’t stand it. I couldn’t just tell him that though, because Mistah Steel woulda taken that hard because he was tryin’ to do something nice. Maybe even woulda fired me again.”

“How many times _did_ he fire -”

“Then we were at a diner after a job, real early in the morning? And I wasn’t even thinking, because when the waitress told me the thing I was ordering was really spicy I told her I didn’t like peppers _right in front of Mistah Steel_. You shoulda seen his face, Mistah Ransom! I thought he was gonna get mad but he was _so_ embarrassed. All ‘Rita why didn’t you tell me anything’ and I didn’t because _I_ was embarrassed and I didn’t wanna ruin it.”

Nureyev looked over at Rita’s expectant face. It was a sweet story, and he had no idea what he was meant to take from it.

Thankfully, Rita was sharper than most people gave her credit for. “The _point_ is, now Mistah Steel cooks something separate for me, and I know he’s clingy when he’s got a fever.” She shifted a little closer on the other side of Juno, and Juno sighed softly in answer; the give and take of long experience. “It’s scary when you care that much and mess up… but I think that’s what love _is_ , maybe. When makin’ a mistake isn’t as important as what you learn about someone because you did.”

Nureyev knew that Juno was clingy when he had a fever. He knew that even a stream wouldn’t work to keep Juno asleep if he felt that empty space in the bed next to him too keenly, that a grilled cheese would tempt him to eat even when he wasn’t well, and that he would go as far as putting on makeup and a dress if he thought he could fool Nureyev into taking him out anyway. He knew Juno would use him as a pillow all night if given the chance.

He didn’t know those things yesterday. He wouldn’t trade the knowledge back for any amount of predictability or planning. And while the idea of feeling his way forward blindly in the dark was still terrifying… he wouldn’t be doing that alone, would he?

Nureyev pressed a kiss to Juno’s temple and thought that he could try.


End file.
